The Walls of Cassone
by Generation Extant
Summary: The Doctor is in a bad mood, so he tries to tear down the universe's most unbreakable walls. (This story was originally published from February 25-April 1, 2009 at Generation Extant dot com.)


In the weeks following Javis' death on Kenos, not much happened in the way of adventure. The TARDIS drifted somewhere between yesterday, today, and tomorrow, never stopping or landing. The Doctor, it seemed, never ate nor slept, but spent all hours puttering about tinkering and re-tinkering in the seemingly endless interior of the dimensionally transcendental ship. At times, the lights inside the ship would flicker, the ship would lurch, or strange, otherwordly music would suddenly be piped in through hidden speakers. At one point, a massive explosion seemed to shake the entire foundation of the TARDIS, but the only reaction shown was the Doctor's wily head peeking out around the doorjamb of Colleen's room, eyes shifting left and right, and then disappearing back into the ship. Try as he might, Russell couldn't get a word out of him, most notably as to why he insisted on wearing the chocolate brown porkpie hat at all times, whether the rest of his usual Edwardian trappings were impeccably matched in black, green, or even golden yellow. That hat had been a Christmas present from Javis, mere hours before the collapse and disintegration of the crystal planet Kenos, and the hat was beginning to show a bit of wear, as was the Doctor's increasingly shaggy hair that jutted out from either side. Still, his hair was always clean, his jacket and waistcoat always tidy, and apart from the odd explosion or flicker, things were almost as an extended holiday inside the world's strangest hotel.  
"This happens from time to time," Colleen had told him after about a week. Russell spent most of those days with Colleen, helping her through her grief, and learning much about the Doctor, the ship, and Javis.  
"He gets in moods, he does," she said over a supper of bangers and mash, "When something bad happens, or he doesn't know what to do, or how to feel… he's not human, and we have to remember that…"  
Russell couldn't help but be amazed at the young woman. With all that she has seen, and all that she has experienced…what a head she had on those shoulders!  
"It's simpler for me to understand," she continued, looking sadly down at her plate, "I'm not…I'm not human anymore, either."  
A result of grisly, ad hoc 19th century Cyber-conversion, Colleen had her cybernetic brain in place, the first echelon of a plan to rejuvenate the metal race by a weakened and disembodied CyberController. Russell kept forgetting, as the young woman was still very much a poverty-stricken, salt-of-the-earth kind of Irish farmgirl. The only difference is that she happened to read about fifteen books a day and proved startlingly adaptable. In the weeks following Kenos, when the two had had to fend for their own, Russell had started off with the cooking (and palatably so) but within three days Colleen had not only grasped the concept of modern cookery, but was making gourmet dishes in fractions of the time thanks to a few theories on molecular acceleration in relation to cooking temperatures. If only the CyberController could see her now, Russell thought, his grand plan to restart the Cyber-race instead created the universe's most efficient housewife. Despite all of this, Colleen would still refuse to touch or even go near a computer, and never touched the TARDIS' central console. Whatever secrets lay dormant in that magnificent hybrid mind, the universe would never know.  
"Thanks for the suggestion on dinner, Russell," Colleen pulled her head back up and wiped away a few betraying tears.  
"It wasn't that I didn't like the truffles or the pate," Russell shrugged, "but I was craving something a bit more…well, earthy. Down home. Maybe even bad for you…"  
"Oh, that's no problem," Colleen jabbed at a piece of sausage with her fork, "I could easily whip up some nanotechnologic yoghurt that would help synthesize all the fat from the butter an' all…if you'd like…"  
She saw Russell's peculiar expression and trailed off. After all, this was a girl who still dressed in her homespun frock of Black '47, speaking of nanotechnology, and it would take some getting used to. To avoid her face becoming any redder neath her healthy smattering of freckles, Russell filled an extra plate and stood up from the modest little bistro setting he had dragged into Colleen's room a few days ago. Sure, the wrought-iron table and chairs clashed horribly with Colleen's mostly wooden Victorian decor, but it was the best he could do on such short notice.  
"Tell you what," Russell said, plate in hand, "this stuff's so good, I bet not even the grumpy Doctor could turn it down. Let me go offer him a plate, eh?"  
Colleen kept her eyes on the wooden floor.  
"…Alright…"  
With a small smile, Russell headed to the open doorway, but he had no sooner gotten there than the Doctor sped past through the hall in his usual fashion, seemingly too fast for his stocky frame.  
"Put it in the icebox, Mr. Garamond, I've no time for it now!"  
"But…but…!"  
How? Russel thought. He was moving too fast to have been close enough to hear their conversation, yet he knew exactly what Russell was up to…what a strange man. With a shrug and a sigh, he helped Colleen bundle it all up and put it away for later, then accompanied her to the console room. She was never very comfortable in there, for obvious reasons, but Russell kept close as the Doctor seemed to be back to normal…for the Doctor, that is.  
"Cassone!" the Doctor hollered from the other side of the console, his free hand popping out from behind the central time rotor as if to serve as a medium, "Cassone, the magnificent walled city of the planet Car, in the central district of the Four Lateral Paradigms of the Chansit cluster! The walls, the walls, oh I should have thought of it sooner! The walls of Cassone! I'm a GENIUS!"  
The hand stopped acting out the Doctor's vocal monologue like a demented hand puppet and slammed a gear into place, causing the TARDIS to lurch slightly as the time rotors began to move up and down.  
"I'm thinking… 2248.653 Chansit time, which would make it about, oh, the year 6000 Anno Domini, which means what, Mr. Garamond?"  
Russell sighed and answered. All the way across time and space to be back at school.  
"In the year of our Lord, Doctor."  
"Spot on. And who set up your modern western Earth calendar, Colleen?"  
"Pope Gregory, bless his soul."  
"And the Gregorian calendar has how many days, Russell?"  
"Three hundred sixty five," Russell parroted back unenthusiastically.  
"WRONG!" The Doctor thundered, leaping out from behind the console in the outfit he'd last been seen on in Kenos: Slate gray trousers and sleeveless pullover, blue striped shirt with white collar and French cuffs, and a golden-hued camelhair jacket matched impeccably to a pair of gold cufflinks and a gold silk necktie. On his head, as usual, sat the brown Porkpie, its brim turned up at all sides, with the Doctor's lighter brown hair jutting out from the sides.  
"Three hundred, sixty five, and ONE QUARTER, Mr. Garamond. Very important, that. Very important. Why, if I didn't take into account the .653 on Chansit time, we could wind up anywhere between the Eternal Peace of a Thousand Cycles or the terrifying War with the Hapsists! Time is very particular, my boy, and very temperamental. One must be…" he flicked a final switch, "careful!"  
The familiar sound of the TARDIS re-materialising filled the console room, and the Doctor kicked up his two-tone spectator shoes and headed for the door. Knowing it would be foolish to try to stop him, Russell hurried along and pumped him for that all important knowledge that would keep him and Colleen out of any unbeknown trouble.  
"Hapsists, Doctor?"  
"Aye, lad, the Hapsists. Feared throughout the entire cluster as butcherers, rapists, pillagers, and genuinely nasty folk. Legends say they stand ten feet tall, with fangs the size of swords, and eyes that drive even the bravest stark raving mad. The people of Cassone built the walls around their city to defend themselves against the inevitable invasion, supposedly the strongest walls in the universe."  
"And why are we traveling here?"  
"Why, to see if the legends are true?"  
Russell stopped directly before the exterior door.  
"Wait. The legends of the wall, or of the Hapsists?"  
"Hm? What's that, my boy?" The Doctor called over his shoulder as he fiddled with the latch.  
"I said, are we talking about the legend of the wall, or–"  
"Oh, no time for more questions," the Doctor shouted, flinging open the door, "Here we go!"  
He was immediately greeted with a blaster rifle held in his face by a blue-looking humanoid with a head that resembled a hog-nosed bat. His voice was guttural and challenging, as if it needed to be.  
"Stay where you are! Go no further! You are under arrest, and any further movement you do will result in your immediate death!"  
The three travelers stood stock still in the doorway of the TARDIS, hands held upright.  
"Doctor, what the hell is going on?" Russell whispered in a voice that would charitably be called agitated.  
"Well," the Doctor whispered back, "remembered when I said we could either be in the Eternal Peace or the Terrifying War?"  
"Yes…" Russell gritted his teeth.  
"Well," the Doctor grinned down the barrel of the laser cannon, "welcome to the Home Front."

The Doctor and his companions were herded roughly out of the TARDIS, with Colleen barely being able to shut the door to the old police box before she found a laser rifle shoved in her face. With a frightened squeak, she stumbled backwards away from the ship and bumped into another of the strange blue bat creatures known as the Car. They had materialised in an alley, surrounded by tall stone buildings in various states of upkeep. Colleen tripped over a loose cobblestone and thudded into the Car, causing a few of its wares to topple to the street. Instinctively, the young Irish girl set about helping the creature.  
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! Let me help you!"  
"It's all right, dear," the Car said in a matronly tone as she gathered up what appeared to be homespun smocks, "Besides, I think you have bigger problems right now…"  
As soon as the words were out of the Car's mouth, Colleen was hauled upright by another guard and forced into line behind the Doctor and Russell. They began a march at a brisk pace through a lavish open air market, with stalls and carts that all jostled for position in a city that, despite its size, seemed downright claustrophobic.  
All around were people, but only in two varieties: the blue, peculiar looking Cars, and a minority of people who looked surprisingly human.  
"That's because they are," the Doctor muttered to him as they passed yet another group of stalls, "there's a small human minority that colonized here and built the Walls of Cassone back in the year 2236. You see, this area is home to a natural source of Neo-Bauxite, something that has proved indispensible for interplanetary travel to the human race. Humans moved in, built the walls, hired Cars to do the dirty work, and the rest, as they say, is History…"  
"Seems like humans never change," Russell grunted sarcastically.  
"Of course not," the Doctor replied, "and that's the beauty of it. Humans are humans are humans, warts and all. Now, our young friend back there…"  
He jerked his head slightly, indicated Colleen, who still looked despondent over her earlier faux pas.  
"She seems to be constantly changing: learning new things, adapting her behavior, harnessing the power of that cybernetic brain…she's quite mad, you know."  
"What?"  
"She's absolutely mad, Mr. Garamond. Her brain, the cyber-brain, was meant to remove any and all emotions. Colleen is using her power not only to get in touch with her emotions, but to revel in them. For what she is supposed to be, she's absolutely mad."  
"And what about us?" Russell hissed, trying not to distract the guards, "are we something different? Are we… enemy combatants?"  
"Oh, no…" the Doctor shook his head and smiled, "No, no, no… we're just different, is all…and every sentient being in the universe wants to understand something that is different."  
"Something is not right, Doctor?" Russell said with a smirk.  
"I suppose, for them…" the Doctor shrugged, and the two shared a smile before being ordered to face front by the guards. After what seemed like an eternity through twisting, winding cramped boulevards, the three wound their jagged way up an inclined cobblestone way to a set of massive bronze doors emblazoned with a relief of the planet Earth.  
"And I thought I was arrogant," the Doctor muttered as the guards pushed him through. Everything was still the same bricks and stone, in various shades of yellow and brown with the bronzed accents that seemed to mark this building as the headquarters of the leader. The three were lead through a long hallway, flanked by statues.  
"Gallileo…Einstein…Bill Gates?" Russell read each of the naming plaques as he walked by, apparently meant to catalogue the great history of the human race.  
"Humans are humans are humans," came the Doctor's perplexing response. Once through the great hall, the ceiling finally seemed to come down to a reasonable height, if only to accentuate the point where the entire room converged: a mighty stone throne, covered in silks and velvet, upon which sat a very unambitiously attired human. Russell expected a grand emperor to sit on this throne, or at least a minor king, but the man sitting there was dressed simply, almost contemporarily, though he carried about him the regal sense of self-importance that made the scene smack with enough ridiculousness. As they were brought before this…man and introduced, Russell couldn't help but wonder how many of the crowded people of Car could fit comfortably instead inside this palace.  
"Presenting our Leader, the creator of the Walls, the protector of its people, and the savior of Cassone, Fox Broussard!"  
The guards who had lead them there bowed reverently and left in silence after the first made his proclamation. The three were left to stand bewildered in front of this man who seemed a king, but did not look it.  
"Um, Doctor?" Russell whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Who is this guy?"  
The Doctor's eyes were level and still looking straight ahead, as was Broussard's. Neither appeared to be moving, or even blinking.  
"He's the leader of this society, obviously, Mr. Garamond."  
"But, shouldn't he be wearing a crown, or some kind of fancy clothes, or have a bigger brain than all of the others? I mean, for all I know this guy could be a banker, or a shoe salesman, or an–"  
"Architect?" The Doctor cut him off with a small smile, finally tearing his glance away to glance sideways at Russell. He smiled warmly, which confused the American doctor completely. For all those weeks, the Doctor had been silent, morose, bad-tempered, but now…he was smiling, cheerful, even…happy. Since his proclamation that they were going to Cassone, he had seemed downright exuberant, and Russell couldn't for the death of him figure out why.  
"What on Earth is this all about?" Broussard said, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand, which was concurrently resting now on his thigh, "A skinny man, a redhead, and a portly man in a silly hat?"  
"Don't talk about the hat, Mr. Broussard," a flash of danger crossed the Doctor's eyes as he skimmed his fingers across the brim.  
"I don't want to talk about the hat, sir…"  
"Doctor."  
"Whatever!" Broussard waved a dismissive hand, "I don't want to talk about whoever in Earth's name you three are. I've got a war going on, and a reputation to uphold! Some of the universe's most feared warriors are marching toward our gates, toward my walls, my opus, and they bother me with illegal immigrants? I've got much more important things to do!"  
"Like what?" the Doctor asked, his voice just a little too curious for Russell to believe, "Is there a problem with the Walls?"  
That actually managed to stop Broussard cold in his cocksure posturing. With a loud scoff and sputter, he prepared his rebuke.  
"Problem? With my walls? HA! My Walls are Impenetrable! Impregnable! The most glorious, shining example of archtitechtural perfection the universe has ever seen! Neutron bombs haven't scratched them! Annihilation lasers haven't cut one stone! There is nothing that will stop my Walls from being an everliving testament to my genius!"  
There was a few moments while Broussard's voice reverberated around the pointed, cathedral-like throne room. Colleen, already shaken, was even more frightened by the way Broussard's voice seemed to magnify and echo into a raucous din. She grasped tightly on to Russell's sleeve, and the young physician did his best to comfort her. As he glanced over at the Doctor, seemingly not bothered by the cacaphony, he began to realize what this entire trip might be about.  
"Oh, I am afraid that you are quite mistaken, Mr. Broussard," the Doctor clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head, "You are an amazing architect, if for no other reason than the voice magnification you built into this room. However, as great as you are, and as great as your Walls may be… they will not survive."

"What did you say?" Broussard's face was a twisted mask of indignation.  
"I said," the Doctor repeated calmly, "that your walls, as magnificent as they are, will fall."  
He began to pace around the throne room, hands clasped behind his back in a move that Russell had seen many times before.  
"Nothing last forever, Mr… what was it? Broussard? How very regal sounding. And Fox? How masculine. You can't manufacture a better name, can you?"  
The man's jaw began to tighten, but the Doctor didn't even break stride.  
"Just you wait, Mr. Broussard, just you wait… your masterpiece will crumble, and I will see it happen. The stones will topple, the mortar will turn to dust, and all that will remain of your beloved walls, of all of Cassone, will be rubble."  
"ENOUGH OF THIS!" Broussard roared, finally coming down from his throne and glaring down at the Doctor with hate-filled eyes, "Who are you to come in here, to invade my lands, and to go about spreading this heresy? You speak of one who knows the future, as if you are some kind of god, and you stand here smiling, goading me, taunting me like a fool! Well," he turned neatly and walked back onto the stone dais that held his throne, "You are not god here. I am. My walls have withstood massive Hydrogen warheads, Ionic Crystal Spears, and Immolation bombs cultivated from the hearts of suns. Nothing, not even the barbarous Hapsists can breach these walls, and no amount of ignorant, scare-mongering protests from those bleeding heart humans from back home!"  
"Bleeding hearts, Doctor?" Russell turned to the Doctor with an inquisitive look.  
"The Cars. A great amount of humanity back on Earth oppose the use of Cassone, and the use of the Cars, as cheap land and labour to harvest the Neo-Bauxite. As usual, some people are misinformed, whipped into a frenzy, and make baseless statements…although as I stand here, I'm seeing much of the same from the leader of this colony…"  
"So impudent," Broussard seethed from his seat once again. His eyes narrowed as he shook his head in disbelief, "So brash and offensive. You talk as if you have nothing to lose, no fear of repercussion…" he scrutinized the Doctor with a disapproving hum, "You look human, but you don't talk like one, you don't act like one…just what are you?"  
"The question isn't what," the Doctor readjusted his tie, "But who. I'm the Doctor."  
Russell had seen this happen before. In his travels with the Doctor, he'd seen Kings and vagabonds alike be reviled or rejoice at the sound of his name, but this man, this Architect had a reaction he had not seen before…diffidence.  
"HA!" Broussard cackled, "The Doctor? That whimsical Gallifreyan, protector of the weak, victor over all sorts of universal evils? Oh my, if I had a stone for each misguided Earth-boy who came here claiming to be the Doctor, trying to frighten me out of my so-called 'illicit enterprise' here…why, I'd have enough to build my walls all over again!"  
He turned to look at Russell and Colleen.  
"Oh, and here must be the storied 'companions,' yes? They sit idly by and probe you with questions, while their only purpose seems to be only to get into peril and demand your rescue…hm, you've got two of them, I see. Someone's going the extra mile, particularly by dressing one in period clothing. I suppose you're Irish, girl, yes?"  
"Y-yes, I am…" Colleen stammered before Broussard began shouting again, causing her to flinch.  
"Oh, how perfect! I must say, you've got it down perfectly: the act, the outfit, the companions…why, all that's missing is your TARDIS, that peculiar blue box you gad about in. Tell me, where is it?"  
He hopped down from the throne, almost giddy now, wrapping the regal silks around his shoulders, "The last fraud who came here told me it was suffering from a fautly Chameleon circuit and was actually the coin in his pocket…can you imagine?"  
He moved toward the doorway and called for his guards. They entered, and he bade them escort the Doctor and his companions back through the crowded streets of Cassone. However, Broussard's status made the streets part like wheat before a strong wind, allowing them easy passage through, and through the entire time Cassone's architect gloated and jeered.  
"Ah yes, there it is!" He pointed to the Doctor's stern face, "The fury of the Time Lord! The haughty dismissal of such lesser creatures such as I… you do it so well, but you are still a fraud with fraudulent claims. My walls have been specially created so that materialisation inside is not only impossible, but any kind of transmat is immediately alerted to my guards. So, fraud… did you land in the spaceport, and then attempt to transmat into the marketplace? What of your TARDIS, eh? Is it a box? A lamppost? A statue of a cat?"  
They had reached the TARDIS, which was cordoned off and watched over by four of Broussard's guards. The architect immediately fell silent at the sight of the blue box, and his voice was markedly that of a dry mouth.  
"Wh…what?"  
He ran to one of the guards near the cordon, his voice shrill.  
"You! Tell me, this is a fraud, isn't it? It's not real, tell me it's not real!"  
The soldier looked alarmed, moreso because the usually calm Broussard was currently shaking him like a ragdoll.  
"I'm sorry…sorry, sir…but…all of the scans say that it's… it's the real thing…"  
"NO!" Broussard bellowed, wrapping his silks around him protectively, "It can't be…if this could materialise…inside…that means something is wrong with the defenses, and that means…"  
There was immediately a blinding flash of light, and thunderous boom echoed from the far end of the city, followed by a melee of screams and the clangor of a battle just begun.  
"That means…"  
The Doctor walked slowly up and behind Broussard, his voice still level and his face still firm.  
"That means that the Hapsists are here."

Fox Broussard began cutting through the crowded marketplace at a tear, the regal silks that clashed so badly with his workman's attire falling from him into the street. Immediately, Car merchants set upon them, hoping to turn a profit as Broussard's guards charged by in hot pursuit. Bringing up the rear were the Doctor, Colleen, and Russell Garamond, their charges and their trespasses apparently forgotten in the face of such abject terror. The Doctor, with both hands stuffed in the pockets of his slate gray trousers, seemed to be making little effort to hasten his progress to the spot where the Hapsists had materialised.  
"Doctor!" Russell shouted above the swiftly panicking din, "Hurry up! There's got to be a way we can save this!"  
The crowd was soon growing into a dangerous mob. The American doctor reached out in the crush of bodies, his deft and thin surgeon's fingers grasping for the small and delicate freckled ones of the Irish girl, Colleen. Her face was flushed, and her bright green eyes shot open with fear as Russell instinctively pulled her close. Still, the Doctor seemed to be taking his time.  
"Doctor!" Russell shouted again, remembering back to the first time he had met the strange man. Despite his average height and portly frame, he had easily maneuvered his way out of a crowded Emergency Ward and away from the long and gangly stride of the American. Why then, Russell thought, why was the Doctor seemingly lying in wait? Surely it can't be…  
"Mr. Garamond," the Doctor said softly in a voice that was miraculously audible above the noise, "You and Ms. Ciradh will be quite useless in the conflict on the other side of the city. I suggest that, instead, you help Colleen to re-establish the transmat lock so more of the Hapsists cannot enter the city. You'll find the tools you need in the TARDIS, and the lock is located back in the throne room."  
The Doctor was standing now, one hand still in his trouser pocket, the other running its fingertips down the sandy, perfectly fitted stone bricks on the Wall. Russell was quickly losing his patience.  
"What makes you think Colleen can fix that trans-whatever…thing?"  
"Have you tried asking her, Mr. Garamond?" the Doctor's response was so calm that it was nearly maddening.  
"Are you crazy, Doctor?"  
"Colleen," the Doctor ignored Russell's accusation, "What the main component of a transmat inhibitor?"  
Colleen's response was automatic, almost involuntary.  
"A standard organic/inorganic transmaterialisation device can be inhibited by harnessing and redirecting the gluon wave field, effectively returning the object to its original point of departure at the same moment in time, in effect never moving…" she shook her head agitatedly, furrowing her scarlet brows, "er, I'm sorry…"  
"No, it's quite all right, dear. You're doing just fine," he ruffled her hair slightly, which seemed to bring her around slightly. He looked up at Russell.  
"See? She's not as defenseless as you think… or she does."  
Russell heaved a heavy sigh. By this point, almost all of the stalls had shut up, and the market was very nearly deserted.  
"Fine," Russell grunted, running his palm down his face, "I'll take Colleen to the throne room. Does that mean you're going to confront the Hapsists?"  
"It does indeed," the Doctor said with a small smile. He plopped his porkpie hat on Colleen's head, chuckling a little as it slid comically down over her ears. He waved the two off, as if he was telling two children to go outside and play.  
"Now…off you go, off you go. And don't worry," he caught Russell's gaze as he herded Colleen back up the hill, "It will be all right."  
Meanwhile, Broussard had managed to get his way to the other side of the walled city, and had come face to face with the leader of the Hapsists. Measuring nearly twenty feet tall, the Hapsits were beastly, demonic creatures with scarlet skin, horned muzzles, immense, hulking bodies and rows and rows of impossibly sharp teeth that they used to great effect on their foes, or on their own kind when the mood (or the hunger) suited them. The spears they carried were the size of a man, and twice the weight, and the strangely reptilian eyes of the hot-blooded beast glared at Broussard with no shortage of jaundice. All of Broussard's guard lay dead on the ground, along with nearly one hundred people of Cassone, human and Car alike.  
"So it is you," the beast cackled, a low, rumbling, perversion of a voice, "the mighty Wall-Maker…ha!" He snatched Broussard up in one of his oversized fists and bellowed into his face. The stench of blood and decay was nearly overpowering.  
"Look at your masterpiece now, Wall-Maker. We, the Hapsists, are inside! Any fool could have seen that a wall is nothing to a transmat generator, and you surely are a fool!"  
He began to shake Broussard fairly violently, leaving the human to flop about and the Hapsist chief to guffaw horrifically at the spectacle.  
"Look at you! You dress as a pauper! You are not fit to lead, you are no chief! What chief is it that cannot protect his people? What chief is it that spend his time building walls that prove utterly useless? You are a relic, Broussard, a foolish human with foolish human beliefs, and it is time that your race learn that your way is not always the best way."  
He held Broussard high above his head, so as to give him the best view to the destruction of his magnum opus. There was a moment of silence as the Hapsist chief prepared himself, then roared like a battery of cannon, slamming his mighty and muscled fist into the simple stone of the wall.  
The wall did not budge.  
With a snarl of rage, the Hapsist slammed his fist into the wall again, and again, but still nothing could even scratch the surface of brick and mortar. The chief bellowed, casting Broussard to the ground, and began hammering at the walls with both of his hands, hands that had wrought destruction across the entire Trelansl system…but nothing happened. When the Doctor finally appeared, walking leisurely, the Hapsist had resorted to driving its spear into the cracks between the rocks, roaring and screaming at the wall that would not budge, not even to its Herculean strength. The Doctor helped Broussard up, and dusted him off.  
"Well made, Mr. Broussard," the Doctor smiled at the dirty and terrified face of the architect, "Well done indeed."  
"But…" Broussard's words were a dry and whispering rattle, "you said the walls would fall…"  
"Your walls will fall," the Doctor said, helping to prop up the battered man, "but for now, I have work to do."  
Once Broussard was stable, the Doctor pulled himself to his full and unimpressive height, nearly to the knee of the hoofed Hapsist. He walked forward boldly as the creature was still madly trying to pick apart the wall that would not fall. Finally, in his rage, the Hapsist (who was a bully and, by that definition, a coward) decided to vent his frustration on the oddly dressed man in the tan jacket. The beast let forth and howl and meant to crush the Doctor with one slap of its massive claw, but the Doctor surprisingly dodged sideways, the claw missing him by only a hairsbreadth. In a complete furor, the Hapsist dropped down into a charging stance, like a bull from hell, and began to hurl insults at the strange little man.  
"You pathetic ant! You gnat! You insignificant thing! You are no more than a flea on my hide, and I will devour you as I devour them! I–!"  
"Oh, please."  
The Doctor shot out his left hand, fingers close together and outstretched, directly into the face of the horrific, ready-to-pounce monster. With the quick movement of opening a particularly sticky old iron lock, the Doctor swiveled his palm upwards, and in a trice the Hapsist chief fell to the ground, dead without ever being touched. In another few moments, the transmat reversal kicked in, and the corpse of the chief was immediately wicked back to its camp, a chilling warning to never again attack the walled city of Cassone.  
And they never would.

Russell and Colleen made their way down to the scene of the carnage just as the Doctor was leaving it. The strange man seemed satisfied with everything despite the fact that what could have been hundreds of humans and Cars lay dead. Colleen and Russell were aghast at the scene, their faces frozen in open horror as Fox Broussard, the great Architect of the Walls of Cassone sat alone on the cobblestone street, surrounded by corpses. Tears ran unchecked from his face as he scrambled to his feet, fairly throwing himself against his Walls. He battered them with his fists, cursed them, threw himself against them in the hope of bringing them down and serving his penance for hubris. Sadly, the Walls were too well constructed, Broussard was far too good. The Doctor scooped up his companions before they could complain, or cry, or even offer to help. There was even an unsettling bounce in his step as all three made their way back to the TARDIS. The Doctor was halfway through setting the new course when he began humming a chipper ditty to himself, and Russell couldn't take it any longer.  
"What the hell is wrong with you?" He shouted. His voice slammed off the walls of the console room with a fearsome energy that made Colleen wince.  
The Doctor turned to him with a straight face and calm, hooded eyes.  
"Pardon, Mr. Garamond?"  
"You're humming!" Russell threw up his arms in disgust, "You just antagonized a man, an entire city, and left it to have its civilians slaughtered by some kind of outer-space demon…and…you're humming!"  
The Doctor had some idea of what was coming.  
"Would you prefer I whistled, Mr. Garamond?"  
"I'd prefer a bit of respect for the dead! It's the least you could do for not moving one inch to save them!"  
"They were not the ones to be saved," the Doctor turned a dial on the console slowly, its laborious clicking sounding hollowly inside the control room, "The Laws of Time dictated that they were the ones to die."  
"Bull!" Russell spat, "Absolute bull! You go on and on about time and how it has to be set right, but what good does it do? You could save a life here, then save more lives later when you 'damaged the future.' You've got a damned time machine, but all you seem to want to use it for is your sadistic vacations!"  
"Mr. Garamond…"  
"Yes, yes please!" Russell began to pace around the console, "Tell me some amazing life lesson, make it all make sense with your super spaceman brain! Somehow manage to justify killing a hundred people in your own, special demigod way, it just makes everything all the more frustrating!"  
With a grunt, Russell flopped into one of the chairs around the console, his arms crossed.  
"I'm a doctor, you know," he scowled, "I could have helped some of those people, or Cars, or whatever…but I suppose that goes against your master plan, eh?"  
"Mr. Garamond, you have to understand," the Doctor's voice was still calm and level, though it was beginning to get a bit emotional, "I'm the only one left. An entire race of beings devoted to maintaining the fabric of time, and now I'm the only one left… it's my duty as who…as what I am to continue on their legacy. Surely you can understand that."  
"So the people who took the food from Colleen and her family, their descendants should continue crushing others because that's their legacy?"  
"Mr. Garamond, those people had to die," Russell turned away, "It was for the good of the universe!" The young doctor sniffed defiantly, and the old Doctor began to get frustrated.  
"Look, because of what I did, the Hapsists won't invade another culture for the rest of creation! They're a superstitious race, with low-level telepathic capabilities. It's how they're so fearful on the field of battle: they can read each others' thoughts and experiences. When the Hapsist chief is recalled to their war camp, all the others will be able to piece together from his scrambled brain mass is an image of a tan jacket," he tugged agitatedly as his own lapels, "and they will live to fear that color for the rest of time. Within decades, they will have stopped their warmongering days, because every army in the cluster knows to outfit their troops in uniforms of tan. The Hapsists will become traders, artisans, even doctors like yourself, Mr. Garamond… and the hundred or so who died at Cassone will be able to rest peacefully knowing that they helped stop the scourge of the Trelansl system from extending itself…don't you see?"  
Russell was still silent, though obviously upset at this revelation.  
Flustered, the Doctor went back to angrily flipping switches and pressing buttons on the TARDIS control panel. For a few minutes, there was no sound save the gentle hum of the time rotor and the whirr and click of alien machinery.  
Surprisingly, it was Colleen who broke the silence, her quavering voice seeming to mend the rift between the men.  
"You see all that, Doctor?"  
"Of course I do…!" the Doctor responded pompously, automatically, but added in a slightly more shameful tone, "more or less."  
"How does it all fit inside your head?" The Irish girl persisted.  
"Not well," came the Doctor's reply, "I make do with what comes to mind, so to speak… and sometimes I can't save everyone."  
"I hate you sometimes."  
Russell slowly rose from the chair and approached the Doctor from the other end of the console.  
The time rotor separated each face from being read by the other.  
"Then why are you still here…" the Doctor said slowly, deliberately, flipping three switches with hard, fast movements.  
"Because…" he ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to get rather long, "Because you do everything I wish I could do."  
There was a slight pause. Colleen's green eyes darted back and forth, trying to get a read on either of their faces or body language, but it proved indecipherable.  
"There are times, Mr. Garamond…" the Doctor pressed a button and was rewarded with a low moan from somewhere in the TARDIS, "when I wish I could do what you do. Your empathy, your love, your forgiving and indomitable spirit… I think that's why I like you all so much…"  
Russell started laughing. He couldn't help it, it just came pouring out of him. He was holding his aching sides after a good two minutes of nonstop laughs when the Doctor finally popped his head around the rotor.  
"For heaven's sake, man, what are you hooting at?"  
Russell heaved a massive, merry sigh in an attempt to staunch some of his chuckles. One or two aftershocks still plagued his explanation.  
"Well, it's…haha…it's just…ha…a lot of people, back on Earth, they accuse us Doctors of having a God complex, hee hee…"  
"And?"  
"And? Well look at you"  
Russell giggled again, "Power over time and space, wielder of a telepathic brain-poke-of-death…and yet you want to be like us? Feel what we feel? Ha…some people might say that you're a God with a Doctor complex!"  
Russell kept laughing, and even Colleen snorted a snickered about it a bit, thought she fell silent as soon as she was caught by the Doctor's piercing gaze. However, Russell's laughter proved highly infectious, and within a short amount of time even the Doctor was chuckling and flicking spare nuts and bolts off the TARDIS console at Russell. Russell was in the process of creating a paper airplane to land on the Doctor's hat (which had been retrieved from Colleen) when the TARDIS lurched to a stop, propelling Russell into the nearest wall via an ungainly barrel roll.  
"Ow! What was that for?"  
"Sorry, Mr. Garamond," the Doctor helped him to his feet, "you had me so distracted I'd almost forgotten where we were going."  
"So where are we?"  
"Cassone."  
"Oh, shut up!"  
"No, really!" The Doctor reassured him, "This is Cassone five billion years in the future, exactly five billion years, three days, five hours and forty-two seconds after we left!"  
"Charming," Russell rolled his eyes.  
"But why are we back here?" Colleen asked, pulling on her coat as she followed the two to the door.  
"I want you two to see something, that's all. Now…" he placed a hand on the door and raised a cautious finger with his other hand, "I want to warn you that it is very dangerous out here. I'm using the power of the Time Vortex itself to create a forcefield around the ship, but it won't last long. Just enough for a quick look and we'll be on our way…but be careful! Are we ready?  
"Wait!" Russell shouted, staying the Doctor's hand, "Why is it dangerous? Another war? Is it that Neo…"  
"Bauxite," the Doctor answered.  
"Bauxite, right…is it that stuff again? Did the Cars rebel?"  
The Doctor chuckled at this and swatted away the idea with the back of his hand.  
"Oh! No, no, no, no, Mr. Garamond…the universe stopped running on Neo-Bauxite aeons ago, and the Cars have long since departed for greener, er…bluer pastures."  
"Then why so dangerous, Doctor?" Colleen was mostly hidden behind Russell's narrow frame…not an easy task.  
"Because my dear…in three days the planet of Car will be no more."  
Again, Russell and Colleen were dumbstruck. The Doctor grinned and went on.  
"You see, gravity has begun to assert itself, as it often does, and Car is very nearly being pulled into its parent star, Trelansl. What you're going to see is the last days of the city of Cassone, and I think you might find it…interesting."  
The threw open the door with a flourish, offering the companions a hellish view of what looked like ground zero of a hydrogen bomb. Nearly everything was destroyed, on fire, or crumbling from the excessive gravity. All around there was the sound of a giant, maddened locomotive run off its tracks and bearing down upon them. Soon the entire planet would be dead, soon there would be nothing left of this world, just like so many other worlds before it, but…the Walls still stood. They were ancient now, their stones weathered rounder and smoother, and they looked ready to topple in the extreme scene…but the Walls of Cassone still stood, five billion years later. The Doctor pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and counted down.  
"Four, three, two, one, and…now."  
In a spectacular display, gravity finally won out, and the Walls of Cassone crumbled in one fell swoop turning to dust nearly before they could hit the ground. The panorama afforded by the fallen walls was equally hellish, as the great star Trelansl dominated the horizon like a blazing, hungry devil, its enormous size almost too much for the human brain to comprehend… so the Doctor closed the door. Russell and Colleen staggered backwards, breathing heavily due to the shock of the situation. As they grasped their chests and wiped the startled tears from their eyes, the Doctor leaned back against the TARDIS door and sighed wistfully.  
"Ah. Yes…I told him they would fall."


End file.
